The Red Rose of Anjou (40 page)

‘Lovelace, I am putting you in charge of the right flank.’

Lovelace nodded. He hoped he did not show how uneasy he was. He was in a dilemma. His position was not a very happy one. He had not escaped from Wakefield as he had said he had. It was rather different. He had been released on a condition. He had no wish to be a spy. It was not his role at all. He was a soldier. But when faced with torture and horrible death he had had to make a choice.

‘You may return to Warwick’s army,’ he was told. ‘You will

lead his men; but in truth you will be working for us. You will send messages to us as to where his strength and weakness he; you will let us know his plans...’

He wished he had not agreed. He wished he had accepted death and honour. But it was hard on a man.

So here he was in Warwick’s army, enjoying Warwick’s trust. Well hardly enjoying it...wishing with all his might that he had never been captured at Wakefield.

But perhaps he was unduly worried. Warwick was going to win this battle; and if he did, why should he worry about what Margaret and her captains could do to him? After the resounding victory that Warwick would surely achieve there would be nothing to worry about.

Warwick would succeed. He must succeed. He must so completely rout the enemy that Lovelace would never have to worry because he had failed to play a double game.

Henry’s tent had been pitched under a tree and Lord Bonvile and Sir Thomas Kyriell were with him.

‘Never fear,’ Lord Bonvile promised him, ‘we shall not leave you. We shall be beside you while the battle rages.’

‘Battles,’ murmured Henry, ‘I would there need never be more battles. Of what use is this bloodshed? Have I not promised that York shall have the crown on my death? Oh shame on them, shame on them, so to treat the Lord’s anointed.’

‘It is the Queen, my lord, who will not agree to the people’s wishes. She will take the crown for her son.’

The King shook his head and mumbled. Bonvile and Kyriell exchanged glances. It was strange that the King should be ready to pass over his son. Could it really be that Edward was not his child and he knew it? Or was it simply that Henry was ready to make any sacrifice for the sake of peace?

One thing was clear. It was only necessary to look at the King to understand why this war had to be. He was unfit to rule; and when there was a claimant who looked like Edward Longshanks and who acted like him—then clearly that claimant was meant to be King.

Almost as soon as the battle began Warwick realized his mistake. His defences on which he had spent so much time and on which victory depended were useless. Margaret was not coming in by either of the roads he had imagined. She was going to strike his army on the undefended north-west front. This meant that his men would be facing the bitter wind while the enemy would have it at their backs.

Another point which he had overlooked was the size of Margaret’s army; it was not quite double his own but nearly so; not a decisive factor certainly, but in view of the layout of the land and the position which had been forced upon him it could prove disastrous.

It began to snow and the wind blew the snow into his men’s faces; the wildfire, to which they were not accustomed was worse than a failure; it reacted against them. When they shot it forward the wind cruelly blew it back; and they were the ones who suffered from the deadly weapon.

The nets and traps which he had set up were useless; and the Lancastrians were smashing into his defences. It was becoming clear that all his skill and all his ingenuity could not save him. The men were quick to see that they were losing the day.

Lovelace saw it. He had his own life to save and there was only one way he could do so.

He shouted an order to the troop of men under his command and they galloped after him right into the Lancastrian forces shouting: ‘A Henry. Margaret the Queen forever.’

Margaret was exultant. The battle had been all but won, but Lovelace had added the final touch.

Warwick was in retreat. The first battle of St. Albans had been a disaster for her; the second was triumph.

In his tent, guarded by Lord Bonvile and Sir Thomas Kyriell, Henry sat praying silently. All about him were the sounds of war. He was deeply distressed. He prayed for death—his own death for it seemed to him that there was nothing in life but continual conflict. If he were dead Edward of York would be King and perhaps there would be peace. But no, Margaret would never stand aside and let them take the crown from their son. That was what this was all about.

Sir Thomas was whispering to Lord Bonvile: ‘We should go now. Our friends are leaving the field.’

Lord Bonvile hesitated. ‘Who will guard the King?’

‘None will harm him. Margaret would not want that.’

‘Who will know that he is the King?’

Henry heard them whispering. ‘You are planning to leave me,’ he said.

‘My lord, our army is all but defeated. If we stay here we shall assuredly be killed.’

‘Nay. I will protect you. You have protected me and I will protect you.’

The two men exchanged glances. It was their duty to stay with the King. Warwick had commanded them so that he would be protected from any of the soldiers from either side who might seek to murder and rob him. When the looting began it was not easy to restrain them. If the King were left alone in his tent and discovered there he would very likely be murdered.

‘Then, my lord,’ said Bonvile, ‘we will stay.’

###

The battle was won. The enemy was in flight. Margaret was triumphant. She embraced her son and cried out: ‘We have defeated them. We will drive them from this land. This is the end of York and Warwick. Perhaps they will see this now. Let us thank God for this victory. But we shall not rest on it, my son. No, no, now we should go to London. We shall proclaim you heir to the crown. I shall be Regent until you are old enough.’

‘My lady,’ said the Prince, ‘what of my father?’

‘They have your father with them. Pray God he is safe. Everything is changed now. This is victory, my son.’

Lord Clifford came into the tent. He was clearly excited.

‘My lady, we have found the King. His servant Howe is without. He has been sent here by Lord Bonvile.’

‘Bring Howe to me without delay.’

The King’s servant was on his knees before the Queen.

‘My lady, I can take you to his tent. He is guarded by Lord Bonvile and Sir Thomas Kyriell.’

‘Traitors,’ she cried. ‘They have always been my enemies.’

‘They have guarded the King and saved him from the soldiers who might have harmed him, my lady. The King has promised them mercy for their services.’

‘Take me to him...at once,’ commanded the Queen.

Henry staggered to his feet.

‘Margaret,’ he cried.

She ran to him and embraced him. ‘Thank God you are alive. Oh, Henry...it has been so many months...But it is over now.’

‘Margaret, to see you like this...’

‘Victorious,’ she cried. ‘Our enemies in flight!’

‘Now there must be peace.’

‘Peace when we have what we want. See here is your son. Edward, your father.’

Henry embraced his son and there were tears in his eyes as he contemplated the boy.

Margaret was surveying Sir Thomas Kyriell and Lord Bonvile who had stood back while the reunion was going on. Her expression hardened. These men were the enemy. They had fought with Yorkists against their King.

‘My lord Clifford,’ she said, ‘call guards and put these men under arrest.’

Lord Bonvile said: ‘The King has promised us free pardon.’

She ignored him.

‘My lord,’ began Bonvile, appealing to Henry.

Henry said: ‘Yes, these men were my good friends. They stayed with me when they might have escaped. I have promised them their freedom.’

The Queen nodded. ‘Even so, we must put them under restraint.’

The guards came in and took Lord Bonvile and Sir Thomas away.

‘Now,’ said Margaret smiling, ‘you should reward those who have served you well. First your son. You must bestow a knighthood on him; and there are others who have served our cause with extreme gallantry. Will you, my lord, at this very moment honour those whom I shall have brought to you?’

‘Willingly,’ said the King.

###

Henry was resting in his tent. He was very feeble still and he needed rest if he was to endure the journey to London which it seemed necessary to endure. Margaret knew that what she must do was march to London, take the capital and set up the King in his rightful place so that he could rule and all should know-that he had a strong heir to follow him. The proclamation which had decreed that Henry should rule as long as he lived and then be followed by the Duke of York must be overruled and declared null and void.

She was glad of the King’s weakness for that gave her the chance to do what she had intended to do, and from the moment she had set foot in his tent she had known that if the King had been aware of that he would have tried to prevent her.

She had set up a court room and in it was the block and the executioner with his axe; beside her on a dais sat her son.

Sir Thomas Kyriell and Lord Bonvile were brought in. They had fought with the enemy; they had brought their men to serve against the King. They were traitors to the anointed. And what was the fate of traitors? Death was the answer.

‘The King promised us pardon if we stayed to guard him,’ said Lord Bonvile.

‘There is no pardon for traitors,’ said the Queen coldly. ‘You shall reap your rewards, my lord. Justice shall be done.’

She turned to her son. ‘What punishment shall be meted out to these two traitors, my son?’

Well primed and eager to show he had learned his lessons well, the Prince cried out: ‘They should lose their heads.’

The Queen smiled. ‘Judgment has been given,’ she said. ‘Let the sentence be carried out without delay.’

The Prince looked on wide-eyed as the two dignified men were led to the executioner’s block. He saw the blood gush forth as their heads rolled away from their bodies.

Margaret saw that he neither shuddered nor turned away. She was pleased with him. She was sure he would not grow up to be like his father.

THE FATEFUL DECISION

‘This,’ said Margaret, ‘should be the beginning of the end. We have trounced the great Warwick. What is the victory at Mortimer Cross now? It is for us to march to London to show the people the King and to tell them the war is over. The enemy is defeated.’

It was the answer. But the Earls of Pembroke and Wiltshire were thoughtful. Margaret’s army consisted of the roughest men; a great many of them were mercenaries; they were fighting this war not for a cause but because of the booty. They were dreaded and hated throughout the country.

The troops of York and Warwick were of a different caliber. They were fighting because they believed they needed a strong King and Henry was not suited to the role. They had merely wanted him to reign with strong men to guide him and after his death for York to take the throne. York had convinced many of them that he had the greater claim in any case.

The people of London would never open their gates to Margaret’s army. One did not have to think very deeply to imagine the pillage that would take place if the richest city in the kingdom was thrown open to the marauders. London had its own troops. It would never allow Margaret’s rabble to enter.

There was discussion and argument. Margaret began to see the point. There would be opposition and London had decided the fate of several kings.

Perhaps she was not strong enough. Perhaps now that she had shown she could win battles she would lure different kinds of men to her banner. Perhaps she would not have to rely on these mercenaries collected for her by her very good friends.

When Jasper added his voice to the others she was inclined to sway towards their view. In the meantime she remained at St. Albans.

###

Warwick rode at the head of his defeated army. The debacle at St. Albans had been a humiliating experience. Looking back he could see where it had gone wrong. There had been too much preparation and it had all been of no avail—frustrated by the simplest of strategy. The battle had not taken place facing the direction he had intended it should. It all depended on that— and the defection of Lovelace. Who would have believed it of the man? Whom could one trust? Men changed sides as easily as they changed their boots.

And now? Well, he had been in worse trouble. All was not lost. He must join up with Edward. The young man would be in good spirits flushed with the success of Mortimer’s Cross. Together they would form a considerable army; and his men would merge with the victorious and forget their defeat.

He sent scouts ahead to make contact with Edward and as he marched he made his plans.

He had lost his figurehead. He no longer had the King. He could not say that he was the King’s servant when the King now marched with the enemy. Of what use was the King when he was not a figurehead? Poor Henry, he was too supine to be anything else.

‘Forsooth and forsooth,’ said Warwick, imitating the King’s own oath, ‘since I do not hold him, I must needs do without him.’

He was in good spirits when in the town of Burford he made contact with Edward and his army.

They embraced. Then Edward looked about him.

‘Where is the King?’ he asked.

‘Right before me,’ answered Warwick.

Edward looked bewildered.

‘You are now the King,’ said Warwick.

Edward stared at him; and then his face was illumined by z, smile. He began to laugh.

‘There is little time to be lost. We will rest here and I will tell you what happens next.’

So they rested, for that night only. There must be no delay.

‘It is imperative that we reach London before Margaret,’ said Warwick. ‘The people of London will not let her in. They do not trust her armies. They will welcome us to protect the city and that is what we will promise to do and then my friend...and then...we will present them with their new king Edward—the fourth of that name. I know it will succeed.’

‘I will make it succeed,’ said Edward.